Pussy trumps cock or I can’t make him cum.

To get The Neighbor to cum I have to do an elaborate dance of tension, pressure, sensuality, and stamina. It is not for the faint of heart. My neck hurts, my arms, my mouth will feel drawn and tight. But I persevere because I love him and I love his cock.

The man may be blessed to have a large cock, but he is blocked. His vice-like grip on himself and his emotions also extends to orgasm when a woman is upon him; neither her mouth or her pussy are always the key. They’re occasional keys.

He laments his troubles, but finds great pleasure in what he gives to me and what I do for him. It’s like an almost-perfect birthday gift. Much like millions of men around the world whose women never orgasm beneath them, I trust him when he says he doesn’t need to cum to enjoy himself. I was that woman for years. I get it.

Not only is giving TN a blowjob a performance, I also have to be in the right mindset to make him cum. The sun and moon and stars are involved every time. And lately, they have been misaligned. I’ve been tired, mildly suffocated, agitated, frustrated, and most recently sad and mourning.

Our relationship is good, but it’s not great. We hover in this purgatory of “everything but…” I have everything but hand-holding in a movie theater. Everything but sweet kisses for no reason. Everything but outings with my baby and my man. Everything but having him be a part of my family.

It’s been weighing on me these past few months and I’ve struggled to stay grateful for the moment and all the “everythings.” But with that comes a fatigue which robs me of my ability to perform. I still slurp and love on him — all the time — but I hold back and don’t slip into that place where I know I can make him cum.

In addition, I become frustrated with him for jerking off before he comes over to see me — typically, his third of the day — so I let that domino topple into the rest and therefore I don’t bother, either. He wants to empty his body of seed? Ok, then I won’t try to draw something out that isn’t there to be had.

The sex continues to be hot as fuck, my love for him is stable, possibly growing, and everything is generally kosher (dare I say boring), I just haven’t felt open enough to go there lately. Until the other night.

He came into my room still warm from his shower and smelling of hibiscus this time. I pulled him down to the mattress and splayed my fingers through his chest hair and purred, hitched my leg up over his and pressed my entire body against him. I found myself in a loving and timeless place. I wanted to try this time. He gives so much to me all the time it hurt to think about how little he’s willing to take from me.

My “I Heart Dave” shirt pulled on my breasts as I crawled down between his legs and spread his knees with my body. His erection bobbed hot and heavy, his sac languished below like a bulbous root.

I cupped him gently and tugged then squeezed his shaft with my free hand. He stretched a little beneath me.

I planted my right hand next to his left hip, gripped him with my left, and gently sucked him into my mouth. Soft. Slow. Long. Deep as I could go.

He sighed and pressed into my face.

I closed my eyes then and moved into my dance. I became him as best as I could, listened to every twitch, moan, and movement he shared. His breath caught once, twice, three times. I stopped after each, caught my breath, focused on ignoring my discomfort after minutes on end of continued loving.

He was fighting himself, I knew. I could feel it swarm around me, this battle to just. let. go.

And I was losing.

I paused then and slithered up to his mouth, kissed the corner of it and offered him a breast, popped out over my neckline. He moaned and suckled and twisted my free breast with his hand and stuffed his face with my other breast.

He switched back and forth between my right and my left, mewling and grunting. I repositioned myself so I straddled him; I felt his cock push at the crotch of my black lace panties.

“No,” I said. “Cock trumps boobs.” I wanted to get back to him, to his beautiful, sad penis. I wanted to win.

He sat up suddenly then pushing me off of him and flipping me over. My knees splayed open around him.

He was resplendent in the candlelight, his naked body light and furry, all bulging muscles.

“No,” he countered. “Pussy trumps cock.” And in one smooth motion he pulled off my panties and rammed himself inside of me.

I sighed as I gave up and let him stroke me slowly, his icy blue eyes locked on my face. I couldn’t meet his gaze. I didn’t know where to look. But he knows me well.

He knows that within seconds I don’t have to worry about where I’ll be looking anymore because my eyes will be closed, my head thrown back, my face flushed and my moans uncontainable.

He smirked at me as he witnessed my passion grow beyond my control and I tossed my head from side to side, clutched at his hips, pushed against the creaky metal bed frame.

“Please,” I gasped. “Please, please, please…” I trailed off into a whimper.

“Please, what?” he grinned devilishly, his hips moved slowly. Painfully, exquisitely.

“Fuck me. Fuck me harder. Now.”

And it was as if my words were like a starter gun. He burst out of the gate and slammed into me, his hooves pounding, flying, my body the turf and I blossomed into orgasm again and again.

My own journey to self-discovery — and opening up the the possibility of being orgasmic — was the key to unlocking my box. His cock and my brain are an unstoppable duo, but I had to be present, there.

And as I lay beneath him being jostled by his pounding into my pussy I thought wistfully that I wished I could give him this, too. This hover-over-your-body sensual, ethereal luxury.

He pinned my wrists on either side of my head and jack-hammered into me. My pussy gushed and I felt my juices trickle down between my bottom cheeks. I hung on like a rag doll jockey and hoped beyond all hope that he would cum. But my hopes were for naught.

Exhausted, he slumped over me and rested. He was done.

We lay entwined and breathed heavily next to one another. We cuddled and I played with his diminishing erection. I asked him if he was ok not cumming. He said of course he was. I don’t ask every time he doesn’t cum, but every so often I do. I suppose I should stop, but I just want him to know I care. I don’t want him to think I’m selfish or indifferent to his pleasure.

I take some comfort in knowing he’s cum more with me than he has with any other woman. I’m also the first woman to ever make him cum from a blowjob (his old Domme swung through town a few weeks after he and I met and she was able to make him cum that night — I can’t help but take credit for it, though. I broke the seal.). He also never came with 4 am girl — or even came close. I take comfort in that, too.

It’s strange to be the one who cums, but I’ll take it. And I’ll keep working on cracking his code. His goddamned riddle wrapped in an enigma inside a conundrum. I want him to feel half as good as he makes me feel and I often tell him as much. If he got even a glimpse of what I feel he’d want to return to that place time and time again. I want his key.

25 thoughts on “Pussy trumps cock or I can’t make him cum.

  1. I can see where this is both a blessing and a curse, a ‘problem’ a lot of guys wish they had but are also glad that they don’t. I’m not fond of guys who jerk off before I get to their cock; that means I have to work harder to get what I want from them and, yeah, it’s frustrating, labor-intensive, and I think even unfair… but being the person I am, I will make them pay for giving themselves that extra bit of staying power; I am nothing else if not persistent.

    I was making love to one of the poly wives while taking a medication that, to my delight, delayed ejaculation and I took full advantage of it, screwing her into several orgasms before I finally got to the point where I could cum – it took a very long time. But, after about the third strong orgasm, she started begging me to cum, kept asking me if I was getting close and when I finally did, she was not happy with me. It took her a while to understand that my inability to cum wasn’t because I wasn’t enjoying her – it was the medication that gave me the ability to last way beyond I’ve ever done.

    And when I showed her the side effect, she said, “I don’t think you should ever take this again…” even though she knew I had no choice in the matter – I had to take it.

    And, for the record, I have never jerked off before having sex with anyone; I know why guys do it but I also know that women just do not like it if we can’t or don’t cum inside of them (somewhere)…

  2. Last line there is golden. I think this is a wonderful story of how couples or lovers try so damn hard to please each other, often struggling against their own traps and pitfalls. I’ve had my share for sure. Thanks for the company 😉

  3. I don’t know why he doesn’t cum, but I’d guess there’s maybe something going on in his head? I can have a similar ‘problem’ but for different reasons:
    I do not have sex with my wife as often as I’d like, and we can go weeks without it sometimes. But even after a week or ten days I can get completely wound up, so that by the time we do actually have sex I find I can’t cum. We’re banging away, I’m getting what I’ve wanted for so long, and yet I can’t cum. It’s like there’s a cork in it, a blockage. She’s already cun, but I haven’t, and I know she’s getting annoyed now, which of course only makes it worse.
    I’m pretty sure my ‘blockages’ come from my insecurity – that my wife doesn’t really want to have sex with me. (Even though I know that’s not true, since she enjoys herself when we do.)

  4. I think he’s being rather selfish in jacking off a few times, obviously cumming, before he see you and fucks you. He can cum, he knows how, yet he knows you delight in him cumming with you, be he denies you this. This is not right.
    Not my words here.
    ‘The best sex is the kind in which each person is trying to please the other one. The sharing in sex is one of the things that make it great. It can be technically amazing, but when one person gets the impression that the other person really isn’t there with them, it can ruin the whole experience.

    What makes someone a fantastic lover is not their technical ability or their repertoire of moves but their attentiveness and their efforts to make their partner happy. When both people show that they really care about meeting their partner’s needs, sex becomes something wonderful.’

    This is what I and my partner ascribe to.

    • I love this quote, Clem. Really beautiful and spot on, but we can’t over simplify the inner workings of TN (or anyone). His reasons for jacking off 3x a day are many fold and more deeply felt than his desire to cum with me. As he often says, “I have a go to relief system built in within hands’s reach that I’ve been using every day for 17 years.” I feel for him. I’m not mad at him. Though, like I said, I do become frustrated.

  5. Great comments. I love and appreciate the openness. After reading it all I do think it’s inconsiderate of him to jack off when he know’s he’s going to see you. Only because it makes you feel bad that he hasn’t cum. That would piss me off. Who doesn’t want to make their partner cum?
    This post has also made me think again about why men resist letting a woman get close to them. There’s obviously a lot going on in his head, but I’d like to let men know if you are with a woman you can trust and you care for each other, open up, just a little at a time. If she cares about you she won’t judge you, she only wants to be there for you, with you, to make life richer.

    • Great points ellybale, but obviously it goes both ways. Some women can be a little closed off too. (My wife needs to open up more)

      Sent from my iPhone

  6. I’ve had a succession of partners (mostly male but also female) who have disclosed to me that they find orgasm difficult to achieve. Because I have cared about all of them, I’ve managed to retrain my brain not to equate orgasm with a wonderful, sexually gratifying experience. I can orgasm in a heartbeat, but I seem to find partners who are the exact opposite. It was your description of trying to “crack the code” that felt so familiar to me. Sometimes I feel like I’m Lara Croft trying to get past all the obstacles to unlock that one glorious moment. And I’ve had a blowjob last for over an hour. It’s all worth it, though. Even when I’m the only one cumming.

  7. Great post and string of comments here. What strikes me is how selfish I am, that I barely care anymore if I please my partner. Hmmmph, better ponder this some more.

    Beautiful post Hy, as always.

    • Sometimes that’s the only attitude to take G. Clear your head, get yours, and if he/she doesn’t then that’s their problem. That sounds selfish I know, but in my own situation many of my problems cumming have to do with trying to get her to cum first. I get so hung up on her pleasure I push mine to the back. The other day she said she had cum hard, while I went down on her (and fingered her), and I had no frikken idea. (She’s quiet to the point of selfishness, I sometimes think) (yes, I would have expected to feel a contraction on my fingers, but I guess I missed it – or she was lying! Ha Ha!)

  8. Pingback: He made me beg for it. | A Dissolute Life Means...

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